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Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Via de la Plata Camino – Days 1-3, Spain

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28-30.11.26

Direction Santiago de Compostella towards Salamanca, contrario. Usually people walk towards Santiago but I was already there and needed to get to Madrid, so I decided to take the other direction. As someone recently said, my life doesn’t seem to be simple!

Day 1 – Santiago de Compostella to Outeiro. 28.11.16. 20km.

Aim: to walk into my new future

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Pilgrims leave homespun crucifixes and other mementoes beside a bridge over the motorway very near to Santiago.

Stops on the way: none

Got lost: I lost count. Extremely difficult to follow the Way backwards.

Flagged down van: once. Possibly dangerous as female alone.

Fell over: once, followed by ‘happy’ hour needling the gorse thorns out.

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Beautiful views

Other pilgrims I met: 5. Two going my way, including another French person from Brittany. Are all Bretons as kind, generous, and positive as these? If yes, I am going to live there so it rubs off on me!

Today’s topics: loss, shame. There’s a lot of time to reflect, that’s part of the benefit. And as I walk there’s an increasing sense of perspective bought about by moving forwards through the countryside, and through time.

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Colexiata de Sar

Weather: so hot I walked in vest and short trousers.

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Mountains in the distance

Units alcohol: zero

Lesson learned: I often don’t know whether I will be going up or down hill. Metaphorically speaking, this is a useful life lesson. If I focus on the place where I am, I am best placed to deal with what happens next.

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The landscape is different from the Camino Francés

Day 2 – Outeiro to Bandera 29.11.16. 18km

Aim: Hoping that speaking 3 different languages a day will keep the dementia at bay.

Stops: yes, breakfast of coffee and eggs on toast to make up for the lack of facilities at the Xunta of Gallicia municipal albergue. Also for heat!

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Early morning light

Got lost: only 1 small detour because I sensibly tagged along with someone who’s walked it 4 times, albeit in the ‘right’ direction.

Didn’t flag down any vans, nor did I fall over.

Other pilgrims: 1 Italian pilgrim, one Spanish, heading for Santiago.

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Pines and peaks

Today’s topics: anger and responsibility

Weather: hard frost, deep fog, hot sun

Units alcohol: 0

Lessons learned: don’t lose your temper with the person who can help you.

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Fog sits in the valleys making for a magical view

I am woken rudely from a dream by my alarm. I can’t remember it at all, after being awake on and off all through the night. My hand is sore from yesterday’s fall. T’ai Chi helps!

Last night the lights went off and we were disorientated in immediate total darkness, without warning, at 10pm. Now they come on equally suddenly at 7am, as we 3 sleep in a 16 person dormitory, and off again at 8am before the sun is even close to rising. Good thing I have packed my rucksack so often I can do it in the dark.

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Still some Autumn colours but it’s nearly winter

There’s no heating and the showers are less than luke-warm, despite it being late in the year. With no utensils in the kitchen it is nearly impossible for me to heat water or drink tea, but one of my companions kindly lends me a pan, and she was also polite enough to the woman who looks after the albergue, (who eventually turns up after 2 hours and 2 phone calls) that we get given 3 small plastic cups. Can’t get the wifi to work, the power sockets don’t seem to charge my phone, and obviously I can’t wash things through as usual because they won’t dry. For the first time I had to wear my thermal underwear inside my sleeping bag, so it’s not my favourite hostel. The thing is I have been spoiled rotten recently with hot baths, delicious fish, and a picnic given to me by a kind friend that morning. It’s a really hard place to be, even if it is clean, safe and only €6.

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Morning is breaking

So we create our own generosity, we 3 sharing tea bags, the pan, helping with holes in the knitting, and huddling under our sleeping bags while we write our letters.

The shells from the beach at Finnistere, and the precious gifts I received, add to the weight of my rucksack, so I ditch the ridiculous skirt and tights I bought in Madrid for a special occasion, together with body lotion I now have no need for.

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A stone pilgrim in front of the Iglesia de Santiago de Taboada

Day 3 – Bandera to Laxe. 30.11.16. 17km.

Aim: to have no aim

Stops: pre-prepared food and a swing in a children’s park in Silleda

Got lost: no!

Fell over: no! I have a baton now, new to me, and it helps with my occasionally sore left hip. My right hand is empty.

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Ponte Romano

Cars, lorries and vans flagged down, bars and shops visited to ask for directions: loads and loads

Other pilgrims: yes, we are 6 in the albergue: 3 men and 3 women – French, German, Swiss, Spanish, and me

Today’s topic: learning to accept other people’s decisions

Weather: straight into the sun at 8.30am (now on my right, whereas it was always on my left when walking the Camino Francés), though possibly less heat

Units alcohol: none

Lessons learned: travel with experienced walkers wherever possible, if they’ll have you. Like gold dust they are! We sing Frère Jaques in a round.

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The viaduct over the Rio Deza

Language is an ever important issue for me as I switch backwards and forwards from French (with my companions in real life and in my head with those I no longer walk with); to Spanish (in shops and at the albergues); to English if I am lucky enough to get wifi and talk to family and friends of an evening. So I discover that I must speak simply or I can’t be understood. This means I can’t say what I want, discussing nothing complicated like politics or ethics, and waiting for others to tell me things rather than asking or anticipating.

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Ancient pathway

Then there’s the issue of understanding – turns out that I sometimes think I know but it turns out later that I was wrong. And. Even if I do know what someone has said, they are at liberty to change it, or they might forget what they already said and feel differently, and so say something else. Indeed, my interpretation of what they mean, even if I understand the words, is not necessarily what they do mean. Actually, I reflect, you never really know what other people mean.

We walk for an hour in silence everyday which is a refreshing chance to calm my mind.

Collecting herbs from the wayside for my tisane.

I’m beginning to forget I’m a Shiatsu practitioner. I’ve got the longest finger nails I’ve had in 28 years of practice. I’m very careful when I give my 16 year old friend some Japanese hand massage in the evening. Luckily it’s her first time and she said she loved it.

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I finish the first 3 days of the Via de la Plata remembering the smells of farm manure and chemicals, and the sounds of the leaves falling.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Finnisterre, Spain

Finnisterre / Fistera (by bus) / Santiago de Compostella 24 – 28.11.17

The bus from Santiago de Compostella to Fisterra in the O Coruña province of Galicia, Spain, takes 3+ hours. We drove through torrential rain, along a really beautiful coast which was often shrouded in mist, arriving in the dull damp, with rucksacks and immediately wet shoes. Happily, the bus stops in the centre of the town and the accommodation was only a short walk away.

Oh it was dreadful! Booking.com did not come up trumps, and, later, a complaint had to be made. It was surely the dirtiest kitchen and coldest set of rooms imaginable, without wifi. The only thing going for it was the hot baths.

But look what happened! The next day the sun was shining, and Spain was its usual, stunning self.

The final part of the long ‘chemin’, the Camino path, is to the fin de la terre that gives the area its name, the ‘end of the earth’. It’s a slow hour’s 3 kms wander, uphill out of the town, and past the final milestone.

The road passes a church.

DSC_1597 (640x360) — Parroquial de Santa Maria da Vila de Finsterra

There are glorious views to gawp at!

Here’s the last of the grand pilgrim statues.

There is a small group of buildings at the point – a hotel, gift shop and the lighthouse.

And, oh, there was the Atlantic Ocean, and it was a wonderful sight to behold.

I sat and contemplated the expanse of water.

Taking photos of more walking-related statues.

While I sat, two men arrived. They had obviously walked the last part of the Camino de Francés, and they undressed and danced and whooped with joy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they went on to burn their boots ceremoniously, as many do. Too wasteful for me!

On the way back down, there were still nasturtiums even though it was the end of November!

And other vibrantly coloured flowers growing by the roadside.

The harbour is full of fishing and pleasure boats, and there’s lots to see at all times of the year, even when it is out of season.

There are several supermarkets, one gift shop, a post office and banks, but it’s a sparse town with an air of bewilderment at the wacky backpackers pouring in and out every day. There are also dogs just running around the streets, with cars swerving dangerously to avoid them.

The view from the balcony of accommodation #2 was gorgeous. I enjoyed my sunset sangria and snacks of mussels in spicy sauce ‘en escabeche’. These were slow, peaceful days after the long trek, spent mostly in the open air because it’s a habit that is hard to break. We breakfasted and supped on the terrace, grand meals prepared in the spotless self-catering kitchen. It was, however, slightly less private, what with the loudly copulating couple in the room above.

It is almost obligatory to beach comb in Finnisterre, reputedly the home of the coquille Saint Jaques shells. At that time of year the strand is totally deserted, almost rivalling our Scottish ones, but that suited the end-of-the-road mood. It was good paddling weather!

Reminds me of Claigan Coral beach on Skye, Scotland

The only complete shell found that day, and one half of a matching pair

Being away from the city of Santiago, the cafés are cheaper, with free wifi, cake and biscuits, and no-one takes any notice of how long you sit there, or if you simply pop in to use the toilet.

DSC_1631 (640x360) — I only bought the coffee, the rest was gratis.

On the 27th it was back to Santiago and getting to know the attractive wee streets and gift shops some more. There was a delicious final meal of paella, including my first taste of razor fish, and much happy on-street greetings of friends previously met along the way.

After several brandies, I danced in a jazz bar with C. (Although I didn’t know her name then, she was someone I was to meet unexpectedly the next day, on the Via de la Plata (see later blog https://wordpress.com/post/shiatsutamsin.wordpress.com/687).

Europe was made on the pilgrim road to Compostella.

It was an early morning farewell to Alain, my walking companion of the previous weeks, on 28th, and afterwards I wandered around Santiago feeling somewhat lost (and hung over). Then, well, then of course, I set off walking again.

Thoreau, Gros writes, ‘… we store when walking vivid feelings and sunny memories for winter evenings’. From A Philosophy of Walking, Frederic Gros

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés – Monte Gozo to Santiago de Compostella, Spain

23.11.16 Monte do Gozo to Santiago 4.7 – yes, readers, I got there!

On leaving Monto do Gozo, the roads lead by a sculptor’s garden and workshop: some whole and in tact, others eroded by the seasons and attractively aged.

And a little further on it was a relief to see that the corn had finally been collected in. I had walked through so many fields of maize during the past weeks, and seen it looking daily more bedraggled and sorry for itself. I wondered if it was all going to waste, one of those cash crops which farmers sow for the subsidies. So I was glad to glimpse the shining yellow kernels hanging up for winter storeage.

Then we arrived! On the roundabout at the edge of town is this sign, inexplicably decorated at that time with the French flag, but appropriate seeing as I had walked beside a Frenchman and spoken that tongue for well over a month.

It was not far now to the centre of Santiago de Compostella, but somehow we got lost on the outskirts and so it took a while to find the Cathedral. Having both been there before, perhaps we did not really want to arrive and face the end. We trudged up steep streets and found the bus station (which was unnecessary!), and wound our way back down through the busy metropolis with very uncharacteristic bad temper.

Although I had never planned to get here, and the process was infinitely more satisfying than the end, there was some inevitable elation at standing in the atmospheric, grand square with a few fellow walkers, at this glorified place so many had striven to reach since the Middle Ages.

Mid morning, but the sun is low at the end of November, slanting over my head and throwing a shadow many times taller than me

Alain in front of the Cathedral which is covered in scaffolding

With my raggedy piece of paper, stamped at every hostal I had visited along the way, I went to the credentials office and got the final seal and certificate.

Then found the delightful lodgings (pre-booked).

And attended the Pilgrim’s Mass.

Before taking our seats, we queued to kiss the statue currently situated behind the altar. I was very hungry (a noon service), and it was cold in the cavernous interior. Like the outside, it was in the process of rennovation, and for some reason the enormous incense ball was not swung, so it was all less impressive than it might have been.

After a warming and celebratory meal, followed by a nap, there were streets to walk, shops to visit, familiar and first-met backpackers to greet. A lengthy but spacious re-visit of the Cathedral with its golden altar, and many side chapels, where worshippers chanted and prayed, seemed apt.

What did I get out of walking the Camino Frances? Untold amounts of glorious things.

Physically, I was feeling so much stronger and leaner. I used to say that I only liked flat walks alongside rivers or canals, but now I could manage the climbs and rejoice in the views that my friends used to tell me about!

I reflected (so much wonderful time for reflection!), that the on-going walking forwards gave me an unexpected sense of achievement. It has always been hard for me to believe I have achieved much, hard to stop towards the end of a project, look back and be pleased with what has taken place. But here on the Camino, walking, the simple effort affords pleasure in achievement, of reaching the evening’s destination, of covering the kilometres, of managing the carrying and the impact.

‘When you set off for the day, and know that it will take so many hours to reach the next stage, there’s nothing left to do but walk, and follow the road.’

‘Serenity…a steady balance in the soul. Walking leads to it, quietly, gradually, through the very alternation of rest and movement. …Serenity comes from simply following the path’.

Pages 145, 146 ‘A Philosophy of Walking’, Frederic Gros

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés Camino – O Pedrouzo to Monte Gozo, Spain

22.11.16 O Pedrouzo to Monte Gozo 15.4 km

Despite the previous night’s rain, it was beautiful in the morning misty light

Unfortunately my boots were still damp by morning, but this was a short stage because part way between O Pedrouzo and Santiago is Monte do Gozo. Monte do Gozo is a massive complex of pilgrim accommodation (1200 beds), built at the behest of the Pope, and Alain, my walking companion and I, wanted to see what all the fuss was about. On the way we stopped for a hot chocolate and Santiago Tart (delicious almond sweet) to warm the cockles. There was not much conversation as we neared the end of the long journey and reflected on that with sadness.

There is a tradition, amongst the Camino trapisers, where boots, clothes and other accoutrements which are no longer necessary, are ceremoniously draped around and arranged at a particular country dell. It didn’t attract me at all, indeed, it was all a bit of a mess. Plus, autumn was moving into winter now and a decidedly melancholy atmosphere was all around.

I have never seen such a place as Monte Gozo. It reminded me of a student campus or unimaginative caravan park, with its concrete masses in a gorgeous rural setting, and, as it was out of season, there was nothing but the wind blowing food wrappers around deserted walkways.

On top of a hill, there are views for contemplation, and somehow self-satisfied statues of walkers. So I turned my back on those arrested, oxidised striders, and sat in the warm sun in silence. It was starting to dawn on me that this wonderful Camino journey was nearly at its end.

The man who booked us in was very friendly and we were able to ask questions and find out about the place. Apparently it is full to heaving in the summer, although I still didn’t get a spiritual sense about what goes on there. There were one or two others in the hostel block and an adequate kitchen where we had our pack lunch. And there was blessed privacy for giving Shiatsu.

A thoughtful figure amongst the concrete

Later, there were no cafes or bars open, so we walked into the village in the pitch black, under a starry night sky, and it was freezing. We searched, gave up, started again, and eventually found somewhere to eat the familiar traveller’s menu. I do not recommend visiting at this time of year, and was glad to leave the next morning to walk the final 5 kilometres into the city of Santiago de Compostella where St James’ remains are interred.

‘When I walk I soon become two. My body and me: a couple, an old story. Truly the soul is the body’s witness. An active, vigilant witness. It must follow the other’s rhythm, accompany its efforts: when you rest on the leg during steep ascents, when you feel its weight at the knee. You push on and the mind punctuates each step: ‘good, good, good’. The soul is the body’s pride. When I am walking, I accompany myself.’ p. 57

All quotes taken from A Philosophy of Walking by Frédéric Gros.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés – Palas de Rei to Ribadiso to O Pedrouzo, Spain

20.11.16 Palas de Rei to Ribadiso 25.8 km; 21.11.16 Ribadiso to O Pedrouzo 22.1 km

It’s all about living without knowing what will happen. Whatever it is, walk through it.

Down came the rain and…. . Two hours of heavy downpour in the morning meant very few photos for the rest of the day. However, it was a lovely walk through dark, pine forests, and open lusciously, green countryside, with a great deal of sloshing in the boot department. Plus, dripping sleeves, managing temperature control at the same time as trying to stay dry – one way and another it was a very different sort of a day than I had been used to.

Unexpectedly I stopped for lunch with a friend, and was rarely so pleased to see a pizzeria and drink a warming glass (or 2) of red. The patron was understanding and provided newspaper as I disrobed and slowly stopped shivering. This simple kindness was particularly appreciated.

My feet were actually cosy, even though it was impossible to dodge the puddles, but it was overall more tiring, and so I arrived at the albergue (crossing the ancient 6th century bridge to the other side of the Rio Iso) with weary legs, feet and soul, and in a narky mood. The door was open but no-one was at home, literally. I phoned the number, and the van I had seen leave as I arrived, returned with the hospitalier. There was some confusion as to which hostel, because he had one in town as well, but here I needed to stay.

Of course being so wet, meant that I cooled down quickly, and so I was very pleased to find that the room had efficient heating and a hot shower. There was a communal kitchen, sitting area, and the eternal noise of the TV of course; and here were the two young Canadian girls again. They really had to make conversation this time – we had been sharing dorms, meeting up and separating, re-connecting and overtaking with desultory Buen Camino‘s for several days now. In fact, we even ended up sharing some food, and the presence of other previously wet walkers conspired to improve the atmosphere a little. There’s nothing like moaning about the weather for effective bonding!

I had packed some of the lunch-time newspaper in the bottom of my rucksack, for stuffing my boots at the end of the day. That turned out to be a lucky break, because it had soaked up some of the water which might otherwise have been absorbed by my only change of garments. There was still a great deal of rearranging of sleeping bag, walking clothes, and other soggy items on radiators throughout the evening, but they were all wonderfully dry by morning.

Which is less than can be said for the landscape: what a storm! It rained wildly all night, with thunder and lightening, and I suffered nightmares, wakened time and again, once by my own screaming. Despite being ready to leave by 8.30am, it seemed sensible to wait and see if it might stop before venturing out. It didn’t.

What is the Camino de Saniago de Compostelle like? Often it’s just walking. With a moment when the sun comes out and everything shines. Or you turn a corner and there’s a simple, solid, ancient chapel, right there in the middle of nowhere.

‘During that continuous but automatic effort of the body, the mind is placed at one’s disposal. It is then that thoughts can arise, surface or take shape.’ p. 157

Now I walked beside woods of very unpopular eucalyptus trees with chestnuts dotted amongst them. It was a rather bizarre idea of the Spanish government to plant 1000’s of them for the pulp industry, and they have proved to stop other native species and natural ground cover from growing well.

There were no vultures visible these days (see earlier blogs), only robins (les rouges-gorges); those little gardeners’ friends, hopping very close by the side of the path, fluttering in and out of the wet bushes as if they were following my progress, keeping an eye on me. The rain stopped by midday, and there was an open bar serving hot chocolate, but I felt colder and my feet were like ice.

O Pedrouzo is a largeish town, quite modern in places, and I stayed at a new hostel that evening, Crucero de O Pedrouzo, for 10 euros – all glass frontage and underfloor heating. Delicious! There was a bank with cashpoint, a choice of small supermarkets, and a hard-to-find, but worth-it bakery.

Once again I met with immense kindness. This time it was a woman who welcomed us at the entrance, and she took herself off to get mountains of newspaper and stuffed my boots for me, not just once, but again later, when the first lot had done its job.

The open plan kitchen/sitting/dining area made for easy conversation, and immediate friendships were springing up at many tables as we ate. There was a young, cycling Korean, unusually mixing with other nationalities; 2 men speaking English and playing draughts together, despite the fact that neither had English as their native tongue; the familiar Canadian pair once again keeping to themselves; and a charming Japanese couple. By the end of the night, we were making hilarious conversation in many languages, and we all went to bed with smiles on our faces.

All quotes taken from A Philosophy of Walking by Frédéric Gros.

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